


Mirror's Image

by Aeriel



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Crossdressing, F/M, Gen, Haircuts, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:40:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeriel/pseuds/Aeriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Cersei and Jaime play at changing roles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror's Image

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MiHnn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiHnn/gifts).



> Jaime and Cersei are approximately eight years old here.

Jaime woke, as usual, to his sister tugging furiously on his nightshirt. He knew from experience that if he pretended to still be asleep she would escalate to punching him in the shoulder, and Cersei could punch harder than most boys their age.

"I'm up," he mumbled. "What is it?"

Cersei narrowed her green eyes, and scrutinized his face so intently that despite his sleepiness, Jaime began to worry that something was wrong.

"Do you think we could really pass for each other?" Cersei said, finally.

Jaime yawned, relieved. "Everyone says so."

"If you wore my clothes and I wore yours, would they notice anything out of the ordinary?"

He frowned. Jaime hated being that one step behind Cersei when she was constructing an elaborate plot, whether it was to prank one of the other noble children, or to sneak off into Lannisport. "I suppose not, but why would-"

"Let's find out."

"What?"

Cersei pouted. "It'll be fun. I'm sick to death of my lessons, but for you they'd be new and exciting, wouldn't they?"

"I'd have to wear one of your dresses." It wasn't a question.

"You'll survive," she said matter-of-factly.

Jaime scrunched up his face in a yawn. "If you really want to, Cersei. I bet your lessons are easier anyway."

She shoved him, hard.

"I didn't say you didn't work hard!" he protested, but she was already off, rifling through his clothes for the least sweaty pair of trousers.

Sighing, Jaime ambled over to her chest of drawers, and pulled out his favorite of his sister's gowns and undershirts- the former in glittering gold, the latter red with small gold blossoms.

Cersei posed with an imaginary sword. "How do I look?"

"Like Cersei wearing my clothes," Jaime said honestly. He nimbly dodged the book she hurled at him. "Your hair's too long!"

His sister pursed her lips. "True. Let's find a blade."

"What?" Jaime cried. He loved her long hair- the way it smelled, the way it felt when he brushed it for her. (Their mother liked to brush Cersei's hair too, but Cersei always complained that Mother was too rough. Jaime was always careful never to hurt her.)

Cersei pulled a pair of scissors out of her embroidery kit, apparently ignoring him.

"Don't!"

She paused, the scissors a mouse's breath away from her flowing blonde crop. "Why not?"

"I don't want you to," was all he could think to say.

Cersei's gaze fell from him to the scissors, then back to him. Then, in one quick motion, she seized hold of her hair, and began to shear it herself.

"At least let me," Jaime pleaded. He could see the blades splitting the fine hairs in different lengths, and it pained him.

Cersei tossed the scissors on her bed. "Fine. See if you can do any better."

He knelt behind her, and spread her long mane across her back. With it all gripped tightly together, Cersei had made very little progress, and only hacked through small portion on one side, but the damage was done. Ever so gently, Jamie took up the scissors, and began to snip his sister's hair even.

"It doesn't feel like you're doing anything," Cersei complained.

"Be patient," he retorted. Perhaps he could have cut a bit faster and trimmed the ends even, but he was silently bidding goodbye each golden strand as it fell onto his knees.

When Jaime had finished, Cersei scrambled for her mirror to inspect her new haircut. She beamed at her reflection, and for a moment Jaime forgot to be sad.

"I look like you," she breathed. "Oh, Jaime, it's perfect." And Cersei threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth.

In later years, Jaime would have to admit to himself that it wasn't much of a kiss- just her lips pressed firmly against his. But at the age of nine, it felt like a revelation, heart, mind and body.

Cersei pulled away, strands of her hair brushing against Jaime's cheek. "It'll be our secret," she whispered.

He nodded mutely. Had Cersei felt what he had? Why had she kissed his mouth instead of his cheek the way she usually did, or even his forehead the way Mother did?

She slapped him playfully, as if she could hear Jaime's thoughts. "Did you bite your own tongue off? Get up. I need to see how you walk."

It took several tries before he managed not to trip over Cersei's skirts. Jaime knew for a fact that his sister was enjoying ordering him around, and though a part of it galled him, the rest of him was content to be bringing her such pleasure.

"Smaller steps! You're a lady, not a soldier! Stop swinging your hips like a whore."

Jaime raised her eyebrow. "Why, sweet sister, wherever did you learn such a nasty word?"

Cersei shifted uncomfortably on the bed, and raised her chin, her cheeks flushed. "Aunt Genna said it to Melara." She paused. "Do you know what she meant?"

He thought for a moment. Jaime was fairly certain he did, but wasn't sure how to explain to Cersei. He knew their parents would hate her knowing, but nothing made his sister angrier than being denied information. "Do you remember what we saw the horses doing in the spring?"

Cersei nodded, her beautiful green eyes wide. "And people do that too, don't they? Even lords and ladies."

"If they're married," Jaime said quickly. "They're supposed to only do it if they're married."

"So what's a whore?" Cersei said impatiently.

"A woman who does that with someone she's not married to."

Cersei scowled, clearly displeased with Jaime's answer. "Then what do you call a man who does it outside of marriage?"

Jaime had no answer for that. "You could call him the same thing, I suppose."

"But it's really about insulting the lady," Cersei said angrily. "It's always the lady's fault, even though we don't get to do anything interesting. Even your clothes feel better."

"Yours aren't so bad," Jaime offered. "Once you stop tripping, that is."

Cersei stood. "You look just like me, Jaime. Why don't they treat us the same?"

He kissed her. It was brief and once again, chaste, but it put a smile on his sister's face.

"Some time," Cersei murmured, in a voice that sent a not altogether unpleasant shiver down Jaime's spine, "we should try it ourselves. Don't you find that the most amusing things are the most strictly forbidden?"


End file.
